You hardly see him at first, standing in the corner of the inn, watching quietly. Dark eyes peer from the depths a drab green cowl. Studded leather armor, weathered and careworn, hugs his chest as he glides with a graceful ease toward the hearth. You barely hear the clop-clop of his soft, knee-high leather boots as he walks. A quiver, brimming with arrows, swings from his left hip and from his right hangs a sheathed longsword. In a single, smooth motion he takes the poker from its stand and stokes the fire with a confident familiarity. He replaces the poker and turns to face you, his right hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He pulls back the hood of his cowl to reveal shoulder-length, tousled brown hair and a pair of ears which appear slightly more pointed than round. As he looks at you, a kind smile breaks across his otherwise stoic visage. "Well met, stranger! I am Elwyn Greyleaf," you hear him announce in a mellifluous baritone. Bowing, he adds, "At your service!"